


There is no try

by epeeblade



Series: Jedi!Sam [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-06
Updated: 2007-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clearly, there was only one course of action. Dean would need to get Sammy laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is no try

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank lapillus for the beta.

A chirping noise woke Dean from a relatively sound sleep. He rolled over and slammed  
the control panel next to his bed. He discarded the temptation to stay in bed. In deep  
space, it was imperative to keep a schedule of 'days' and 'night's going, no matter how  
difficult. Anything else would eventually wear down the body and in their line of work,  
Dean needed to keep in the best shape possible.

Sam didn't seem to have any trouble doing that. At first, Dean had been wary of Sam  
continuing to practice his Jedi training, complete with the light saber he had built after  
turning in his original one when Sam left the Jedi. After nearly a year together, Dean  
had come to appreciate how those Jedi skills had saved both of their lives on more than  
one occasion.

It was just about that time too, Dean thought, sliding out of bed. He set the water to boil-  
ing to make Sam's favorite tea and his own current beverage addiction. When both  
drinks were done, he carried the steaming mugs to the cargo bay.

Sam was already there, more than halfway through his routine. Dean frowned at miss-  
ing so much of it, he shouldn't have lingered in bed for so long.

It had become something of a ritual since the first time he woke early to find Sam doing  
this in the empty cargo bay. Dean would watch and greet Sam with his tea for the day.

Sam, barefoot and dressed only in loose sleep pants, moved smoothly through the  
forms. Unlike his frenzied light saber practice, which required intense acrobatics and  
flashy movements, these katas were soft and fluid. His muscular arms cut through the  
air, no, Dean thought, they became part of the air. When Sam moved, he became  
something more.

Perhaps it was the bond they shared, but Dean felt something shift inside whenever he  
watched Sam. The air seemed charged, it was almost hard for Dean to breathe as he  
watched, caught up in his brother's motion. Sam twisted and twined his limbs, strokes of  
power held in check. It seemed like a dance at times, when he kicked off from the  
ground, nearly flying. But he always came back down again, long feet taking the strain  
of his tall muscled frame as if it was nothing.

Sam's body was incredible: whipcord muscle, perfect stomach planes, strong lean back.  
Dean found himself drawn to that golden skin, wanting to touch. He swallowed as he  
hardened in his own sleep pants.

No, this wasn't... Sam was his brother.

His amazing, beautiful brother, who moved almost sensually across the floor. That was  
it, Dean thought, Sam moved with restrained sexuality. In all the time they had spent  
together, Sam had never gone off with a woman, or a man for that matter. Not even one  
of the hermaphrodites from the Beta colony. As far as Dean could remember, the Jedi  
forbid emotional attachments in any form. His brother must be chafing under that restric-  
tion, desire burning under his skin coming through in these exercises, so strong that  
even Dean with his limited force sensitivity could pick up on it.

Clearly, there was only one course of action. Dean would need to get Sammy laid.

***

Sam handed the bartender his credit chit, it should cover the round of drinks his brother  
had ordered and then some, just another of the perks of faked credit. His brother had  
commandeered a table, where he held court with two Twi'lek women, one on his lap,  
winding one of her green tentacles around Dean's shoulders, the other perched on the  
chair next to him. Sam was pretty sure they worked for the bar, but Dean didn't seem to  
mind.

He wasn't sure what prompted this outing. Dean claimed he was bored, and had hit on  
the idea to stop at a nearby spaceport with a thriving cantina. They were between mis-  
sions at the moment, and currently out of leads on their Dad. It had been a long difficult  
year, searching for him while hunting Dark Force beings.

Sam watched Dean smile and flirt, his appearance at odds with what he sensed through  
their bond. Over time they had managed to balance the bond. Sure, it was useful in the  
middle of a job, when Dean needed Sam, or needed to tell Sam something without any-  
one else hearing. He didn't appreciate Sam listening in during intimate moments. And  
Dean absolutely hated that Sam could sense what he felt. Despite being one of the  
most passionate men Sam had ever known, Dean could be extremely closed off.

They had come to an understanding of sorts. The bond had settled after a few months,  
dialing down to a livable level. Sam refrained from following it too intensely, blocking it  
for the most part, except for what he couldn't avoid. The link had saved both his life and  
his sanity.

And now Dean was nervous, worried. Sam wondered why, surely the Twi'lek's were a  
sure thing, given the way the green one was sliding her tentacle along Dean's thigh. He  
frowned; annoyed at the way this evening seemed to be going. At this rate, he'd end up  
alone in the Impala, again.

The bartender slid his drink over. Sam picked it up and took it over to the table, ready to  
tell Dean he would head back to the ship if he wanted. Instead, Dean looked up with a  
grin.

"Sam! Sammy, come sit. This is Ty'ra," Dean pointed to the blue skinned woman, "and  
Cerin'ah." The green-skinned Twilek smiled at Sam, her tentacles now reaching out for  
Sam.

"Oh, hi," Sam said, not sure what was going on here.

"Sit, Sammy, sit," Dean kicked the chair across from him.

Sam sat, startled when the two women suddenly transferred their attentions from Dean  
to him. The green one went for his lap this time, what was her name? Cerin'ah?

"Your brother said you used to be a Jedi," she whispered against his ear, following it  
with a long lick along his jaw.

"That's so wizard," the other one appeared on the other side of him. Sam felt something  
brush his leg and he knew it wasn't her hand.

He looked across the table at Dean who was looking at him hopefully. Sam nearly  
laughed, he suddenly realized what this was. "Could you ladies excuse us for a few  
minutes? I have a tab at the bar, why don't you get some refills."

"Sure, Sammy," they giggled and thankfully, left them alone.

Sam slid over until he was in the seat next to Dean. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean, Sammy?" Dean threw back another shot.

Sam put his hand over Dean's. How much did he have to drink? "I don't need to be set  
up. If I wanted a partner, I know how to find one."

Dean looked at his and the confusion was rolling off the bond in waves. "Aren't you, you  
know. Jedi. Sex is forbidden?"

Sam broke into laughter. "I'm not a virgin, Dean. It's not sex that's forbidden. It's love,  
unnecessary attachments. I've had plenty of sex."

Dean looked boggled for a moment. "So, it's one big orgy in the Padawan quarters?"

"Not quite." Sam realized he was still covering Dean's hand with his own. He pulled  
away, resting his hand on the table.

"But you're never loved anyone?" Dean asked.

"I thought you hated talking about emotions," Sam tried to deflect the question.

"You're the one with all the 'trust your feelings' crap," Dean waved a hand, nearly knock-  
ing over Sam's drink.

Sam closed his eyes. "No, Dean, I've never loved anyone I've had sex with."

"That's sad, Sammy." Dean all but pouted. He always was an emotional drunk.

Sam reached forward, meaning to push the still full glasses out of Dean's reach. Dean  
put his arm over Sam's, stopping the motion. Sam looked over, puzzled. He opened his  
mouth to speak, but Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips against Sam's.

It startled him, at first, the taste of Dean on his tongue, mixing with the sweet tang of the  
liquor. Sam leaned into the kiss, reaching up with one hand to capture Dean's jaw. He  
pushed Dean away gently. "Dean, you're drunk."

"You..." Dean whispered.

"Come. Let's go back to the Impala."

***

Dean awoke slowly, face pressed into his pillow and the covers kicked to the end of the  
bed. He rolled and stretched, wondering why he ached so much. He ran his fingers  
through his hair, massaging his sore scalp as he reviewed the events of last night.

Then groaned into his pillow as he realized what he had done. He'd kissed Sam. His  
brother.

No way was he dealing with this with a hangover. Dean popped one of the tablets he  
kept near the bed and hopped into the shower adjoining his room. By the time he fin-  
ished, the drug kicked in, clearing his aching head. Feeling better, except for lack of his  
morning beverage, Dean stepped back into his room, his towel hung low around his  
waist.

Sam sat perched on the edge of Dean's bed, leaning forward, his hands clasped to-  
gether in his lap.

Dean hadn't had time to think about this. He had no idea how he was going to explain  
his actions to Sam, or his own desire for his little brother. Frowning, he pushed at the  
part of his mind where he felt Sam within him. Without the same training as Sam, his  
sense of the bond was much less, unless Sam allowed his thoughts to be sent, all Dean  
received for the most part was a dull hum at the back of his head. He knew if Sam was  
alive, hurt, in danger, or even asleep. More than that, he couldn't say.

Now he wished he could follow that thread into Sam's mind, see what his brother was  
thinking and how he could get out of this. Sam looked up and gave him a twisted smile.

"Feeling better?"

Dean shrugged. He moved past Sam and turned on the water for tea. They were going  
to need it. "Don't see you with a hangover."

"I didn't have nearly as much to drink. And you know I can dispel most affects of etha-  
nol." Sam played with the sleeve of his long tunic. "I spent the night in meditation."

Dean focused on fixing the mugs, making sure Sam's tea was perfect, ignoring the im-  
age of Sam on his knees in meditation. "Sam, I was drunk."

"But you meant it. We're bonded, Dean, I know you meant it."

"Yeah, convenient how I can't see into your head whenever I want." Dean set the mug  
down with a clatter.

"If you talked about things like a normal person, I wouldn't have to..." Sam stopped him-  
self and took a deep breath. He stood and picked up his own drink. Dean took the cue  
and sipped at his own tea.

Of course Sam wanted to talk about it. For a guy who lived so much in his own head, he  
felt the need to hash everything out.

"We can just forget it happened," Dean whispered.

"Dean," Sam said, "Let me, let me talk, first. Then, whatever you want..."

Dean put his mug down and flopped on the bed. He propped himself up on some pil-  
lows, placing his hands behind his head. "Go ahead. Talk."

He expected Sam to start some bullshit about living in each other's pockets all the time,  
of this sexual desire being just a thing they could get over. Instead, he got something  
else.

"You know, Jedi philosophers debated for generations about love. I've read so many  
texts, had to memorize thousands of words on the subject. I thought I knew where I  
stood. I had it perfectly planned out in my head, just like my Jedi career." Sam paced as  
he spoke, looking away from Dean.

Dean watched, fascinated. He always loved to watch Sam move, but this was some-  
thing else, an agitation in his movement that Dean had never seen before. Sam paused  
over Dean's dresser, running his fingers along the top.

"But then, I had never loved anyone before. I mean, I felt affection for my Master,  
probably more than I should have, according to the Code. I cared for my agemates. But  
I was careful, never to fall, never to take anyone to bed who wanted more."

"Sammy..."

"Do you still think that's sad, Dean?" Sam turned, looked at Dean once and then away.

"Yeah," Dean said, "yeah, I do."

"I've spent ten months with you. That's the longest I've shared my life with anyone. Is it  
any wonder I've become attached to you?"

"The bond, Sammy..."

"The bond doesn't force this. The emotions are my own. And I want to feel this. I'm not a  
Jedi anymore, as you keep reminding me."

Dean drew himself up on his knees. "Come here, Sammy."

Sam came, as if drawn, crawling up the bed to Dean's side. Dean touched his cheek  
gently, marveling at how Sam's eyes closed at the touch, his cheeks flushed. "We're still  
brothers, kid."

Sam reached up and caught his wrist. "By genetics, Dean. Biology. I knew you my  
whole life, but we weren't raised together."

"I thought the Jedi taught you better than to rationalize like that."

"Like I said, not a Jedi anymore." Sam leaned forward and kissed him.

***

Kissing Dean now, on Dean's bed, was completely different from kissing him in the bar  
last night. For one, he was certain of Dean's desire, the bond not fogged by drink. It  
opened remarkably, Dean's desire flowing between them, igniting Sam's own.

And something else, a spark of light, so bright Sam nearly had to shut it out of his mind.  
Dean's love poured through the bond, bright and pure. He could weep at the beauty of  
it. But Dean would misinterpret the tears, so Sam choked them back.

Dean felt something though. He pulled away from the kiss, nipping gently at Sam's  
lower lip before drawing away. "Are you sure?"

Sam let his fingers tangle in Dean's short hair, keeping him close. It was like the first  
moments of the bond, he needed Dean near, needed to touch that smooth skin. He  
marveled at keeping himself from this pleasure for so long.

"I'm glad you didn't bother getting dressed." Sam whispered, pressing his lips just below  
Dean's ear, delighting in the shiver that caused. He let his other hand play, sliding along  
Dean's side, caressing his chest, and brush across his nipples.

Dean made a strangled noise in his throat. He undid the laces of Sam's tunic and  
pushed it over his shoulders. Sam shrugged it off.

He arched his back, letting Dean touch where he wanted. Dean's fingers were gentle,  
his touches were more than caressing, they were worshiping. Sam looked up with  
heavy lidded eyes, watching Dean's face, how he bit his bottom lip, his eyes soft in the  
dim light.

There was something in the way Dean touched him, something in the hesitant, reverent  
touches that caused Sam to ask:

"Dean, have you ever been with another man?"

Dean chuckled. He kissed Sam again, lips soft. "Yeah, Sammy. Been a long time  
though."

Sam captured Dean's face between his hands, relishing the feel of the stubble on his  
palms. His thumbs stroked Dean's skin gently. They were eye to eye, no denying who  
the man before him was. "Trust me," he murmured, leaning forward to kiss Dean.

He would never tire of kissing his brother. Like everything else he did, Dean kissed with  
his entire being, opening his sensual lips, taking Sam's between them. Sam devoured  
the mouth offered to him, conscious of Dean's hands, one scraping fingernails along his  
back, the other tangled in his hair.

Sam wanted Dean. He wanted to feel his brother inside him: his body, his mind, his  
heart. As he pulled away Dean's towel and pushed down his own pants, he realized this  
was the danger. This desire was more than the lust he'd felt for many of his sexual part-  
ners. It was more than want, it was need.

"Let me," he asked, pushing Dean back down on the bed between kisses.

"Sam," Dean groaned his name, sending all the blood rushing to between his legs.

"Dean," Sam whispered back.

There was oil on the bedside table. Sam only needed a touch to slick Dean. He trusted  
in the Force to stretch himself, making the penetration easier.

Dean jerked upward as Sam slid onto him, clutching at Sam's forearms. His eyes closed  
for a moment, long lashes dark against his pale skin. Sam couldn't help but lean down  
and kiss each eyelid. Force, he was full, full of Dean.

They moved together, Dean arching up into Sam. They fit together, their bodies joined  
as if they were meant to be so. Sam threw his head back, caught up in the feeling, Dean  
in him and under him, hands tight on Sam's skin.

And the bond, on fire with desire the entire time, flared even brighter. When he cli-  
maxed, Dean shuddering beneath him, Sam gasped. It was different, better, of course,  
but it was more. The bond tightened around them and he was sure even Dean could  
feel it.

There would be no breaking it now.

Later, Sam curled around his brother, stroking his chest absently. "I'm not sorry."

"Sam..."

"Dean." Sam pushed down the bond, sending how it felt to be with Dean, to connect  
with him on that separate level. He saw Dean's eyes widen and knew Dean understood.  
There would be more between them now.

That was when the comm chose to chirp. Dean looked at the instrument panel along-  
side his bed. "That's the outside-ship communications...you did make sure we were  
cleared to stay in port an extra day?"

"Of course, Dean, I know what I'm doing."

"Now," Dean snarked, sliding out of bed. He snagged a pair of pants and stumbled to  
the vid screen he had over his desk. Sam slid his tunic over his shoulders and stayed  
out of sight.

The face on the screen had him gasping. "Dad."

After all this time looking for their father, it seemed he had decided to stop hiding. He  
had found them.

Sam looked at the sex tousled sheets. As usual, their father had perfect timing.


End file.
